Sanctus Patricius
by Kami the Music Box
Summary: Taken as a slave, he returned to the land of his captors to spread the Gospel. He also drove the snakes out… but not the way you've heard. Historical fiction, oneshot.


Bold Gryffindor, from wild moor,

Fair Ravenclaw, from glen,

Sweet Hufflepuff, from valley broad,

 **Shrewd Slytherin, from fen.**

-from the 1994 Sorting Hat Ceremony Song

* * *

Christ be with me, Christ within me,

Christ behind me, Christ before me,

Christ beside me, Christ to win me,

Christ to comfort and restore me.

Christ beneath me, Christ above me,

Christ in quiet, Christ in danger,

Christ in hearts of all that love me,

Christ in mouth of friend and stranger.

-from the Lorica of Saint Patrick, also known as Saint Patrick's Breastplate or The Deer's Cry

* * *

Blood spewed from the boy's nose and mouth as a leather-clad foot sailed into his cheek once more. The boy spat out a tooth and faced forward, trying not to look at the man kicking him. Blood and sputum dripped off his swollen tongue. The other man, who was holding the boy's arms back, laughed and dropped him in the pool of his own shame and injury while kicking away the broken pieces of his wand. There was the sound of clanking as the two men looped chains around his ankles and wrists- still behind his back- and forced him to his feet. The boy flinched as the pain in his head redoubled. Chattering in their native tongue, the two pirates began marching him through the marshy bogs and willow trees, towards what he knew to be their ship. He tried in vain not to cry. He cried anyway.

During the following hour, their party was joined by more pirates with their own captives in chains. The boy recognized them as workers from his father's villa. The men continued to chatter in their barbaric language, marching the captives toward their ship over the course of an hour. The boy continuously tried to cast wandless spells in his captors' direction, but he would be struck across the face each time he attempted to speak aloud.

When the miserable party arrived at the beach, the foreign invaders got to work loading their captives on board. As he neared the gangplank, the boy spied a small venomous viper coiled amongst the rocks. How it had gotten there he did not know, as they usually lived in the bogs and moorland further inland from whence they had come. As he passed it by, he bowed his head and surreptitiously whispered, " _Would you please come with me and help me kill these barbarians?_ "

The viper raised its head laboriously and replied, " _I would love to, but I am dying and can barely move._ " After a thoughtful pause, it continued, " _I do wish you luck and God's good graces. You are going to need them both._ "

Bitterly disappointed, the boy moved up the gangplank and away from his home.

* * *

"Boy!" the tribesman roared in his rough native tongue, "Why am I missing three sheep?"

The boy frantically counted his master's animals. There were indeed three sheep missing, all ewes. He felt the blow just before it connected with his head and rolled with the punch in time to avoid serious injury. "Go out and find them now!" the tribesman screamed. The boy scrambled out into the field and away from his master's wrath, frantically retracing his steps.

Hours later, after the sun had set, the boy sat down on a hill in frustration. If he returned without the sheep, he would receive a merciless whipping. Sleeping out in the open and resuming the search on the morrow seemed a much better alternative than going back to the household that had bought him. He resolved to watch the stars for a while and then bed down for the night under a tree.

At that moment, a familiar rustling caught his ear. His heart leapt within him. He listened further, straining his ears and then… yes! There it was again! With his heart in his throat, he called out joyfully into the night, " _Greetings, scaled friend! Come and speak with me- don't be shy!_ "

The rustling paused, as if in confusion, then slithered closer, " _Hello?_ "

The boy grinned for the first time in two years, and cast out his hands, searching for the warmth of life and saying " _Hello! Yes please, come and talk!_ "

A small head with round eyes poked its way out of the grass. The body it was attached to was also small, light tan with dark horizontal markings all the way down. It was a viper. It flicked its tongue towards the boy in curiosity, then finally approached his outstretched hands.

" _I've never met a man that could speak to me in my own way,_ " the snake mused aloud.

The boy smiled again, " _I've always had some innate gifts. This one I developed by spending a great deal of time with your kind in the marshes of my homeland._ "

" _Where are you from?_ " asked the snake.

" _Across the strait to the east and south._ " The boy paused, blinking back tears, " _I was brought here a slave_."

" _I have heard of this concept,_ " the snake replied, " _It seems painful to be forced to do something against your will- even if it were simply to lie still in the sun._ "

The boy found it far too difficult to reply.

" _So, is there anything else you can speak to? Birds, or deer, or fish even?_ " the snake asked.

" _Just snakes,_ " the boy replied, " _But I can do other things as well._ " He concentrated with a great deal of effort, silencing all his thoughts and thinking only of weightlessness, of airiness, of floating. Placing all of his intention into his lips, he intoned a word in his own language and rose a few feet into the air. The snake cocked its head in wonder. After a moment, the boy put the same amount of intention and thought into weight, sinking toward the earth, and returning to a natural state. He spoke again and drifted back down to the ground. With his hindquarters firmly planted on the grass, the boy smiled at the snake. It nodded, " _I am truly impressed, young man._ "

" _Thank you._ "

" _Seems difficult though. You were really wrinkling up that human-y face of yours,_ " the snake observed.

The boy sighed wistfully, " _It's much easier with a wand. It focuses the energy for you._ "

" _You need something long and pointy in order to focus better. How very phallic of you,_ " the snake said dryly. The boy frowned, started to reply… then realized that he was talking to a female snake and opted to take the criticism. She made a noise somewhat like a laugh. He found it comforting.

" _I have another question for you,_ " she said.

" _All right,_ " the boy acquiesced.

" _Most humankind are locked up inside their structures at night, asleep. Yet here you are, under the stars, far away from any structures. I am curious as to what you are doing- since it is so irregular for your kind._ "

The boy sighed, " _I am looking for three sheep._ "

" _Ugh,_ " the snake replied, " _Why?_ "

" _Because I lost track of them and my master is angry with me that I have done so. He instructed me to find them and return with them. I know if I don't, I'll be whipped within an inch of my life._ "

" _Slavery,_ " the snake observed. The boy nodded. Looking off towards the eastern side of the hill, the snake continued, " _Two of them are still alive, off that way. They've been in a small ravine by a stream since this daytime, about an hour's walk away for a human male. You're welcome,_ " she finished.

The boy stared at her, open mouthed in awe and gratitude, before leaping to his feet. " _I could kiss you!_ " he cried to his companion. She recoiled in mock disgust, " _Not with that weird human mouth, you won't!_ " she replied, but the boy could hear the humor in her voice and blew her a kiss anyway. After securing a promise that they would meet at that same spot the next day to resume conversation, he tore off down the hill and towards the stream, running at a reckless speed through the dark woods.

The sheep were right where his new friend said they were: one sadly dead, but two thankfully alive. He carried and led them to his master's house, and only received ten lashes for the one dead sheep instead of thirty lashes for all three. Even as sore as his back was, he felt a deep gratitude that it hadn't been worse, and for his new friend, the first snake he had seen during two years in the hellish Celtic lands.

* * *

" _Explain to me this concept of a prayer,_ " queried the snake.

The young man folded his legs beneath him, searching for words. The sky above was actually somewhat sunny today, and the sheep were momentarily behaving themselves as they grazed around him on the hill.

" _It's a sort of conversation where you can only experience one side, but you know there's Someone Else that is listening and responding in their own way._ "

The snake tilted her head.

" _You call upon God, for strength, for solace, or just to talk,_ " the young man elaborated. " _It's like any close friendship wherein conversation is necessary to keep the link strong._ "

" _But you can't hear Him- or Her, even- respond to your questions and cries?_ "

The young man started to correct the snake on the feminine pronouns, but thought better of it and simply said, " _Not in literal words, per se, but He speaks in His own way._ "

" _And what is that?_ "

" _A sign sometimes in nature, a chance meeting with a friend, certain circumstances beyond your control that come together. It's very subtle, but if you are often in communion with God you can see it quite clearly._ "

" _Circumstances beyond your control._ "

" _Yes._ "

" _Like you, getting kidnapped into slavery._ "

" _…Yes._ " The young man shifted, trying to find the right words to say, " _Once upon a time I was indeed angry that this instance had occurred. And I still feel bitterly lonely without the embrace of my family, even though I have found a friend or two,_ " he nodded in the snake's direction, " _But as I have grown closer to my Father during my frequent time of prayer, I have seen that this misfortune has made me stronger and more resilient as a person. It has served to strengthen my faith in the one true God. It has shown me the misfortune that must be fought against in society and has given me new empathy for the poor in a way that I did not have as a spoiled gentryfellow at my father's villa._ " The young man paused a moment, then continued, " _All humanity grows through trial. This is my trial to grow through._ "

" _And why did your God design humanity in such a way? Could He not have created you in a way that does not entail misery? And could he not have designed the world in such a way that misery could never occur?_ "

The young man laughed. His friend was good at creating unique perspectives that gave him pause for thought, " _I suppose that is a question you'll have to ask Him yourself._ "

She laughed her chortling hiss of a laugh. He pushed it one step further, " _Or ponder and meditate on as a Mystery._ "

" _My kind has much to ponder on indeed,_ " the snake replied without embellishment.

" _Do your kind worship a God? Or gods?_ "

" _Some of us do indeed believe in one God, others in multiple gods. The same as you lot_."

" _Do you believe in a God or gods?_ "

The snake seemed to smile, " _Yes._ "

The young man raised an eyebrow, " _Which is it? Do you believe in one God or many?_ "

" _Yes._ "

He squinted at her, " _You aren't going to elaborate, either._ "

" _No._ "

The wind shifted direction, hinting at rain, so the snake bid herself adieu to find higher ground and safety. The young man stood, watching her leave, then made his way around the field checking on the sheep under his care. After his duties were satisfied, he settled back down on the same hill to count repetitions of the Our Father on his fingers and talk to God.

* * *

It had been six years since his kidnapping that the dream came to him, telling him he could escape to the sea. He arose in the black hour before the dawn, gathered his staff and shoes, and ran from his master's house in the direction the dream told him to, even though he knew it would take a week to get there. While pausing to catch his breath beneath a tree, the snake hailed him from above, where she and her family were resting in the branches.

" _Where are you going, young man?_ "

He craned his neck up to look at her and smiled, " _To freedom,_ " he replied, " _There is passage to my homeland waiting at the seashore._ "

" _That's quite far from here. How do you know this to be true?_ " she queried.

" _I think God told me,_ " he replied, " _It was in a dream._ "

" _Dreams are important,_ " she said, " _You'd better heed it._ "

The young man reached up and gently patted her scaly face for a moment. She flicked her tongue out and blinked with affection.

" _I will miss you, dear friend,_ " he said.

" _As will I. Remember us, young man. It has been good to meet a human that can communicate with us so well._ "

With one last glance in his friend's direction, the young man bolted up the road and towards the sea. After a week of traveling over rough terrain on foot, he found the sailors that agreed to take him home to Englaland.

* * *

"Maewyn, my dear son, we were beyond thrilled when you returned home to us after your time in captivity," Calpurnius boomed in his deep voice. The young man smiled under his father's gaze.

"And we were delighted when you said you wished to pursue the priesthood," Calpurnius continued. The reddish evening sunlight beaming through the trees in the monastery courtyard seemed to light his father's beard aflame.

"It would be a great honor to have a man of the cloth in the family," the young man's mother, Conchessa, chimed in. She reached out and squeezed his arm under his initiate garments.

"But why, my son, have you stated that you would be returning one day to Hibernia?" Calpurnius resumed, dismay furrowing his brow, "You spent six long years in captivity there. One would think you would have a grave aversion to that place."

"It's rather difficult to explain, father," the young man replied. He was still in a daze from the incident himself, "A few weeks ago, while I was praying the Our Father, it seemed that I saw a man named Victoricus approach me with letters to read. The one he gave me was titled 'The Voice of the Hibernians,' and as I read it I could hear the voices of the Celtic heathen calling to me, asking me to walk among them." He paused, suddenly uncomfortable to have shared so much, and said simply, "I think maybe it was a sign or something."

His parents looked at him in awe, and his mother's eyes began to well with tears. His father ran his hand along his beard pensively, "I would be inclined to agree with you, son."

The young boys in the chapel doorway began to call out in their high-pitched voices, signifying it was time to gather for Vespers, and for night time vigils to begin. The young man began to gather his things to enter the inner sanctuary and give his final goodbyes to his parents. They would not be permitted to communicate for several more months. His father reached into his robes and pulled out a solid gold locket, pressing it into the young man's hand.

"I understand that priests are not to own fine worldly possessions," Calpurnius said, "But I also know that you are our son, Maewyn, and that you are… different than most others. If they ever find out about the things that you- that we- can do, and your life is ever threatened, I have imbued this locket with a spell that will call me to your aid. Simply place it 'round your neck and open and close it four times. I will be alerted at any time of the day or night and I will be there quick as a flash," he embellished his words with a snap of the fingers. The young man nodded solemnly and tucked the locket into a secure inner fold of his clothing.

"Remember you also have your new wand, Maewyn," his mother said. The young man nodded, feeling the place where he had tied it into the sleeve of his robe and a deep sense of gratitude at the ease of casting spells with a focus. Upon his return to Englaland, he had made himself a new wand to replace the one the Hibernian pirates had broken, with instruction and tutelage from his mother. She was a fine wandmaker in her own right who had carved wands for the entire family before the raid.

"I've never understood that fatal flaw of the deeply religious people in our society," the young man mused aloud, "Why can't they just accept us for who we are? God gave us these gifts and abilities that we might use them. What makes them want to kill us?"

"The Bible does have things to say about witchcraft," his father replied, "In the area of poisoners, astrologers, and appealing to false gods like the Druid heathens of Hibernia. I suppose modern day believers misconstrue that to mean **all** humans with a certain power." His father hesitated a moment, then pulled the young man into a tight embrace. The young man blinked back tears as he hugged his father for what felt like the last time. "Be careful, my son," Calpurnius said, his own voice gruff with emotion.

After embracing his mother likewise, the young man quickly made his way to the evening prayer vigil, clutching at his robe to make sure neither the locket nor the wand were visible. The scent of tallow from the chapel's candles rose around him as he chanted the Our Father. In the back of his mind, it seemed as if he could still hear the Hibernians crying out to be preached to in their rough Celtic tongue. He shook his head to renew his focus and kept praying, for himself, for his family, and especially for the Hibernians.

* * *

The thundering voices around the table were headache inducing. Each priest and bishop were giving their own variations of two distinct themes: anyone practicing witchcraft should be executed, and anyone practicing witchcraft should be ministered to so that they would cease their sinful ways. So far, the proponents for execution were the winning majority.

"But these people could have more to offer in service of the Kingdom of God if one could only convince them to serve Him and not their demonic witchcraft overlords. I believe it could be done," stated one of the younger ordained priests. The others responded with a roar of disapproval.

"Let them do their penance in purgatory then, for there they shall learn the truth of God!" an elderly bishop shouted. His words were met by thunderous applause.

"Who could minister to such a creature as a witch in civilized society?" another priest joined in, "No human could ever convince such a creature to turn from their wicked ways, since they already live amongst man and remain unaffected. Let the purifying fires of Purgatory cleanse them, for only God Himself could appeal to such evil."

Amidst the chaos, the young man simply held his tongue. He could feel the wood of his wand digging in to his elbow as he sat in the cramped chair. Even if he did try to demonstrate his gifts to them, they would never understand. _All of this is what must be endured in order to fulfill the mission God has set before me_ , he thought desperately as, one by one, the voices calling for rehabilitation were silenced.

* * *

The man's heart pounded swiftly as the shore of Hibernia came into view. The deck he stood upon pitched beneath him as the boat traversed the frigid waters. He could see the shoreline grow in size and definition with each passing moment.

A pit of fear formed in his stomach as he played through multiple scenarios in his mind, He could plainly see within his mind's eye scenes of failure, of further confusing the Celtic heathen and, instead of beckoning them **close** to the Lord, driving them further away. Deep in distress, he began to pray the Our Father.

The boat reached shore with the percussive scraping tattoo of wood hitting pebbles. The man was startled out of his prayerful reverie and swallowed his doubts. It was now or never.

He made his way down the gangplank and across the shore milling with sailors, merchants, and riffraff. Something struck a chord in his memory and he stopped dead in his tracks to look around. It came to him like a bolt of lightning- this was the port he had escaped to so many years ago. With that sudden attack of nostalgia, he shook his head and shouldered his satchel, determined to find a place to stay before nightfall.

He had no such luck. Since his return to Englaland, his natural accent had returned, marking his speech in the Hibernian-or rather, Gaelic- language as distinctly foreign. Even though he had retained his fluency, certain vowels and inflections when he spoke marked him as an outsider, and he had to walk to a nearby village to the north in order to find someone willing to give him lodging for the night.

The next day during breakfast he struck up conversation with the family that had agreed to accommodate him. He learned about recent events and how the port cities had grown, which clans were going to war with which, and so on. Finally, he mustered up the courage to ask them about religion. After they had told him about the quarter and cross-quarter festivals, gods, and goddesses, all of which he remembered from his time in captivity, he told them about the salvation of Christ. Puzzled but curious, they asked him to clarify.

"You only believe in one god, foreigner? Only one person?" one of the eldest daughters asked.

"One God in three persons, yes," he answered.

The girl twisted her face in confusion, "That sounds like three different gods."

"It's one deity, I assure you," the man laughed, "But He presents in three distinct ways, kind of like you and I present differently in various places or situations. Or… kind of like…" he cast about for a way to illustrate the Mystery of God in one simple visual. At first, he was at a loss for words. Suddenly, his eye caught the shamrock plants that were growing near the family's front door. He got up from the table, went outside to pick one, and then brought it back. He gestured at the three clover leaves bound to one stem, "Kind of like this."

The young woman's eyes lit up with recognition and she leaned forward, eager to hear more about this Trinity God and His salvation. Her parents and siblings, though reluctant, stayed at the table to listen as well.

* * *

" _It has been good to see you again, young man. This visit has been a long time coming._ "

The man held his old friend, the viper, on his arm as her entire brood lay in the grass around him. They had chanced to encounter each other once again on that same hill where they first met. She was much older now, for a snake, and had many great grandchildren to attend to her. He ran his hand over her head, keeping her scales warm on the chilly, albeit sunny, day, " _I get the feeling you knew I would return._ "

" _I always did. Momentous encounters like ours are fated to repeat themselves, or at least to rhyme. And there is also the fact that I saw you return once in a dream, this time on purpose and with a mission._ "

" _Dreams are important,_ " the man said, " _It is best to heed them._ "

The snake chortled, then asked, " _So what is your mission?_ "

" _I've come to tell the unreached Hiberni- er, Celts- about my God and His salvation._ "

The snake twisted her head to look up at him, " _You really feel strongly about Him._ "

" _He was indeed one of the major factors that helped me the last time I was here. My relationship with Him through prayer strengthened my resolve to live and thrive._ " After a pause, he looked down at her form wrapped around his arm, " _And it was my friendship with you that strengthened my belief in Him._ "

The snake said nothing but flicked her tongue out at him with affection. For a time, they simply observed the world around them, listening to the sound of the wind and birds and watching the blooming clouds roll by. She finally turned to him and asked, " _How goes this mission of yours?_ "

The man stared at the clouds pensively. He had spent the last four years in Hibernia, or Ériu as the locals called it, and finding the words to describe his experiences was difficult. Eventually he said, " _Thus far, I have baptized several dozen people, ordained ten priests, and almost been captured or killed for each instance. This time last year, I was robbed of all my money. I only managed to save my father's locket from harm by putting a spell on it that makes it look cheap and worthless. Today was the first time I've eaten in almost a week._ " He paused, then said, " _It's been the best four years of my life._ "

* * *

The clan chieftain gestured to the wand poking out of the man's robe, "And what would you call this here, my good Christian?"

The man paused to think, not wanting to lie or give away too much information to his host. "A rustic token of affection from my mother," he said simply, "She takes to carpentry."

"I think it looks like a focus wand."

The man forced a small laugh, "I can assure you," his voice tight, "It is not."

The clan chieftain leaned forward and half whispered, "I've heard that you've been seen controlling serpents."

The man shifted in his seat, distinctly uncomfortable, "What I can or cannot do is of no consequence. It is only the works of the Lord God and His son Jesus Christ that can be accounted for."

"The serpent is an antagonist of your belief system, is it not?" the chieftain replied smoothly.

"It is," the man replied carefully, "Of a sort. The Creation scripture teaches that the words of a serpent convinced Adam and Eve to defy God for the first time, thereby introducing sin into the world. However-"

"But if your God was antagonized by a snake, why do they still exist? Why not get rid of them all, in order to set an example?"

"I highly doubt that my God, who spoke creation into existence, would be threatened by one of his own creations," the man said dryly. "Besides, the serpent has a punishment of their own. They are destined to be killed by us and be subservient to us." _Poor things,_ he thought.

"I find that to be a weak punishment," replied the chieftain, "If someone were to defy me in such a way without a proper cause behind their reason for doing so, I would punish them most severely. I would kill them outright, myself."

"I see."

"For example, if my eldest daughter were to be married to an important, high ranking clan member in order that the lineage of our royal family to remain uncorrupted, yet I found out that she had made plans to abscond that position in order to convert to a foreign religion and live a life of service to a 'deity' I don't even think merits the title… well, I'm sure you would see why I might be distinctly furious."

The reality of the situation dawned on the man, and he swept his gaze over to the young woman he had been conversing with off and on for the past week. She looked pained, twisting her hands in her lap and pressing her lips tight together. The clansman seated directly behind her shifted a bit closer and she barely suppressed a flinch.

"I see," the man said quietly.

"I have agreed to host you for two weeks, and you have one week left here," the clan chieftain replied, "If, in that time, you do not manage to convince me that your God is one to truly and swiftly punish those who cause disorder in His house, neither you nor the men who came with you shall leave my lands alive."

He cast an eye toward the two young Celtic converts that had accompanied him on this campaign. They, too, were stiff with fear.

"How can I convince you that my God is true?" the man asked carefully.

" **Your God** can convince me not to kill you or my disobedient daughter by making all of the serpents swim off this island and into the sea," the chieftain said smoothly, "I've never liked snakes, and since they are descended from the creature that disrupted your God's house, I find they should be extra repugnant to you." Eyes gleaming, the chieftain leaned forward, "And I must be convinced that it is your God's design. If I judge that it is indeed you controlling them, I will know that you are nothing but a liar and a simple Pagan witch like us." He sat back on his chair, "My daughter will, too."

Upon being bidden to leave and retire to their guest tent, his two young converts grasped at his garments in fear.

"I never expected to be a martyr so soon," the youngest one said in a quavering voice.

The man pulled his two followers into a fatherly embrace, "I will not let that happen. Our Father in Heaven will not let that happen. Late tonight, I'm going into the woods to… uh, seek guidance, shall we say. I want you to stay in our tent tonight and pray to our Father. Ask the Blessed Mary to intercede on our behalf. Ask for protection over us and especially ask for a cover of protection over that terrible man's daughter."

* * *

It took two days for the message he sent out that night to reach his serpentine friends in the heart of Ériu. They traveled en masse to his location, hastening at their matriarch's request, and reached the clan's land before the week was half up. In the meantime, the man did not stop preaching to anyone of the clan who came to him with questions. Under the watchful eye of the clan chieftain, he continued to do his holy work. When the entirety of Ériu's snakes had gathered in the woods nearby the camp, he went to seek their matriarch's counsel.

" _You are indeed in grave danger,_ " she said at long last after he had finished his tale.

" _I do not even understand his particular obsession with the Creation story,_ " the man continued, " _It isn't even literal. It didn't really happen that way, it was merely written as an allegory to explain our God's character and how He creates things in a linear progression. It's allegorical!_ "

" _That's what you think,_ " the snake quipped dryly, but her human friend was far too distraught to pay any attention.

After extensively worrying and pacing the forest floor, the man felt obliged to kneel before the snake where she lay across a tree branch. He bowed his head, " _Normally I would never think to use you or our friendship in such a selfish way,_ " he began, " _For I cherish our bond and would never think to abuse it. However, given the recent circumstances-_ "

" _Young man,_ " she replied breezily, " _Of course we will help you. Stand up, you look ridiculous._ "

He hastily obeyed.

" _All you ever need do is say the word and we will be of service to you," she said simply, "Do you not know that you have power over our kind?_ "

The man looked puzzled, " _I can talk to you. That's all I know._ "

" _You can ask us to do things, too. And we will not complain or defy you. If we were like humans, we would all be arguing now over why we should help you, and what's in it for us. See how silently we watch you, awaiting our next orders. It is our burden to bear._ "

" _But-_ " the man interjected, scratching his head, " _You've never mindlessly obeyed anything I told you in the past._ "

" _That's because you've never given us any orders._ "

The confused man looked around him at all the eyes peeking through the branches and the lithe bodies curled onto the forest floor. They were indeed waiting, watching him with curiosity and a love he could not comprehend. He turned to his dear friend, " _And how are you able to speak so freely to me? You have challenged my beliefs before. How can you converse with me as an equal if I am supposedly your ruler?_ "

The snake stretched languidly upon the branch, " _The matriarchy has its perks_."

The man ran his hands over his face and took several deep breaths. "All right," he said, " _You are a wise snake. What do you think we should do?_ "

" _I think we should do everything in our power to prevent the daughter from being killed,_ " the snake replied, " _Especially since she has decided to follow your cause with you. The clan chieftain has the power to end her life, so we shall go along with what he wants and we will swim into the sea._ "

" _But you are vipers!_ " the man cried, " _Being in saltwater that long would kill you!_ "

" _I trust that you will find a way to prevent that from occurring,_ " the snake replied simply. The man, taken aback by her complete trust in him, swallowed hard and nodded.

" _We shall have to prearrange everything,_ " the snake continued, " _He cannot hear you speak to us, or even speak aloud in our tongue. He cannot see you move your wand. You'll only be able to speak in their Celtic language._ " She paused, then continued, " _I know this feels dishonest to your God, but as long as it convinces the chieftain not to kill you, I suppose He will not mind you using the gifts He gave you to this end._ "

" _All fair points,_ " said the young man, " _As for the issue of vipers in salt water, I believe I could devise a spell to temporarily transmogrify you all into water snakes when you enter the sea. It would reverse itself as soon as you reached dry land, so be sure and plot a course._ "

" _Of course. We shall take up with our distant cousins in the fens of Englaland,_ " the snake replied, " _That's near to where you were born, I think._ "

After a silence that stretched out for minutes, pregnant with thought, the young man settled upon their plan of action, " _I shall devise the spell over the next three days. Some of your kind need to accompany me to my tent and submit themselves to be tested on. I need some that are hardy and can stand up to pain, because putting an experimental spell like this together in such a short time frame is going to be difficult and will take much trial and error._ "

" _Consider it done,_ " the snake matriarch replied.

" _I will cast the spell on you all in the wee hours of the morning that day. I want you all to secretly gather near the seaside,_ " the man continued, " _Then, when I look upward to the heavens to pray, count to five hundred and go for the water._ "

" _I shall count and lead the charge,_ " the snake replied.

The man sat down on the ground for a moment, putting his head in his hands, " _I feel awful that I have to ask you to leave your home like this,_ " he said quietly.

A moment later, he felt his friend slither onto his lap and around his arm. He looked down at her, tears welling up in his eyes.

" _Dearest friend,_ " she said to him, " _Once upon a time we were many on this island, but as the climate grows ever colder, we are not as able to survive or reproduce well. I do not wish to take a risk with my people's lives by staying here. We will go to Englaland._ "

Smiling sadly, the man gave her scaly head a pat and began gathering snakes for his spell craft experiments.

* * *

The morning of the event was unusually clear and calm, barely a cloud in sight and not a breath of wind. The man had been up far before dawn to cast his newly devised spell on all his friends. The three days during which he did the experiments he had admonished his two attendants to do acts of service for those throughout the camp, and to sleep outside by the public camp fires as a sign that they did not fear attack. "A gesture of trust goes a long way with these people," he had reminded them, "And if we all spend our time huddled in our tent, he'll think we're plotting something."

"Sir," the elder of the two converts had asked, "What **are** you doing huddled in our tent?"

"I'm plotting something," the man said simply, and that had been that.

That morning, as the sun rose above the horizon, the entire clan gathered on the rocky beach. The chieftain and his daughter were front and center, with the former holding a tight grip onto the latter's arm. The man and his two attendants were in front of them, facing the crowd of clansmen and clanswomen. Behind them, the man knew that his friends were poised for action. The clan chieftain stepped forward with a circular motion of his arm, silently calling all into order and assembly. After the crowd had fallen silent, he turned to the man and said, "Show me your God."

The clan princess bowed her head in prayer, even with her father's tight grip on her arm, and the man took courage from her unwavering faith. He took a deep breath, tilted his head up to the sky, and began to recite prayers aloud. His attendants bowed their heads and chanted along to the words that they knew. The air seemed to grow suffocating and still. He kept reciting, appealing to Jesus Christ for compassion and strength in the face of adversity. He prayed over the people listening. He prayed for justice.

Just when he thought he would have to start repeating prayers, there was a startled murmur that came from the back of the crowd. It grew and spread throughout the clan as, transfixed with dread, they watched a river of snakes come flowing down the pebbled hills toward the sea. The man kept praying. The serpents flowed around his ankles, swirling their bodies affectionately over his feet, then hurled themselves into the surf. The man ceased his spoken prayer and turned to watch. Beneath the wavering surface, he could see the effects of his spell take hold. The snakes retained their sandy color and dark striped markings for only a few seconds after submerging. Their bodies soon darkened to a patchy olive and grew slimmer and longer. A temporary yellow spot shimmered into existence on each serpentine jaw as they plunged through the water, suddenly able to swim.

The last one to enter the water was the matriarch herself. She, too, curled around his ankles, but stayed a few moments longer than the others. She looked up at the man and flicked out her tongue with affection, saying, " _I know you cannot answer me and I do not want you to, for I know if you were able you would protest most mightily. Once I reach Englaland, the existing serpent hierarchy there will be too strong for me to remain a Matriarch any longer. I will lose all my powers of free thought and free speech, among others. This is the last time you will hear me speak to you as a free snake. And as my last act as the Matriarch of Serpentine Ériu, I will bestow upon you a gift that only a Matriarch can bestow._ " She stretched out her neck, opened her jaws wide, and sank her fangs deep into the skin of his ankle.

The man flinched in pain but allowed the tears to well up out of grief rather than physical discomfort. The clan chieftain watched in awe as the man withstood the viper's bite. When the snake was finished with him, she pulled her teeth out of his leg, whispered a final goodbye, then plunged into the sea. The man tearfully watched her disappear beneath the waves, never to hear from her again.

After an hour or so of stunned silence had passed, the man turned to the chieftain silently and held out his hand, indicating toward the clan princess with a nod of his head. The chieftain shook his head stubbornly.

"You have certainly proven your point," the chieftain said, "And now that you have, I will not kill you or her. But you cannot have my daughter. She must bear the heirs to rule the next generation of this clan. It is her duty."

"I expected something like that," the man said wryly. He reached into the left sleeve of his robe, where his wand was tethered and ready. Gathering his intent and flicking the tip of the wand upward within the sleeve, he intoned, "By the power that the Lord has vested in me, let my convert go!"

With the last word, a force came out of his wand and upended the chieftain onto his back in the water. The man let go of his wand, grasped the princess by the hand, and began walking her swiftly toward their tent at camp. In awe of what they perceived to be the power of the one true God, the crowd parted to allow the two of them to pass, with the man's attendants not far behind. Several of the other people the man had preached to decided to accompany him. Once they reached camp, the new converts swiftly packed a minimum of their own belongings and followed the man as he walked out of the camp and down the road. His younger attendant came bounding up to him enthusiastically, "Father! Patricius!" he cried, gesturing wildly at the crowd around them, "Look how many people have come with us to serve the one true God!"

The man paused on the road and took stock of the crowd they had gathered. Even through his grief at the loss of his friend, he felt a sense of accomplishment and pride. He had been sent to this land to walk among the unbelievers and minister to them. No matter how the task had been accomplished, the man knew in his heart that all good came from God. Whether it was his gift of proselytization or his gift of magic and snake language, all abilities and blessings were descended from heaven. He knew this in his heart for sure.

The man reached out and tousled his young attendant's hair, "I suppose we'll be needing to build another church!" he said with a grin.

* * *

Over the following centuries, it became apparent that the Matriarch's parting gift to him was a dramatically lengthened lifespan. He continued to traverse Ériu and preach to crowds large and small. He wrote a memoir to record all of his life's work, titling it the _Confessio_. There came a time, decades later, when it was unseemly for him to continue living as he was in the public eye, as his vigor and longevity was already raising eyebrows. As luck would have it, one day an older monk passed away at the very first church he ever built in Saul. The man saw his chance. He traveled to the church that had started out as a barn, performed a few charms to convince all present that **he** had died instead, and transfigured the monk's body to be an exact replica of his own. He then quietly left Ériu and returned to the land of his birth, the fens of Eastern Englaland.

He faced a different opposition there than in Ériu. For years, he had been persecuted by radical Pagans for his Christianity and missionary work. Now, living in Englaland, he found himself more and more in danger of being killed for his innate powers of witchcraft. He and his family managed to escape scrutiny by moving from place to place, but not everyone he knew was so lucky. He transformed from an evangelist into a teacher, albeit now in secret, sharing the stealthy survival spells he had formed over many years while living in captivity **and** while doing his missionary work. Life, dangerous as it was, moved on.

One day, the man was sharing a drink with a few of his students in a public house run by fellow wizards. It was a sanctuary among the growing magical community, disguised in the heart of a bustling port city. It was in the heart of winter, and the snow howling past the windows seemed to give all who heard it internal chills, no matter how closely they huddled to the pub's many fires.

The door swung open dramatically, letting in a gust of icy air to the chagrin of the bar keep and all the customers. The guest responsible for the lowered temperatures smiled broadly in apology and pulled out his wand, casting a warming spell in the air with the same fluid motion. Most everyone seemed to forgive him at that and went back to their conversation. Only the harper sitting in the corner remained exasperated, and then only because she had to pause her playing to retune her instrument. With a steaming mug of mulled wine in hand, the new arrival strode broadly over to the table where the man sat with his students and plopped down amongst them sans preamble.

All conversation at the table hushed in curiosity and the man's students glanced back and forth between the two older wizards. The newcomer's gaze was transfixed upon their teacher's face, eyes burning with some sort of terrible knowledge. He took a hearty swig of mulled wine without breaking eye contact, then said, by way of greeting, "Sanctus Patricius."

The man sat up a little straighter and adjusted the heavy green cloak he wore, one of the few things from Ériu he still possessed. There had been many a person who had called him that in his day, but most of them were Celtic. This newcomer was obviously English in his appearance and dress.

Glancing around at his students, the man said pointedly, "Young healthy people like yourselves should be dancing jigs to the music of a harp, not just sitting around with old folks like us." After a brief moment of confusion, the young witches and wizards under his care understood his meaning and vacated the table, sending lingering puzzled glances over their shoulder. Once they were away from the table and the music commenced, the man looked the stranger dead in the eye and said, "No one calls me that anymore."

"In the Church, they do, and in enduring folk legends from Ériu. You called yourself that when you wrote your Confession," the newcomer said. He took another swig from his mug, "You were and are quite a celebrity."

"That was a different lifetime, centuries ago," the man retorted.

"And you left it all behind?"

The man paused, thinking of his faith, "No," he replied, "Not all of it."

"And have you left Maewyn Succat behind as well?"

The man bristled, "That was the name my father gave me, and I left it behind at his death centuries ago." He paused, nursing his own drink for a moment, "Besides, a name is simply a noise that someone makes to get your attention."

"A name can live on longer than the one who bore it. Names **were** the basis of original spell craft. Much can be done to someone if you know their name."

"Both of those are true," the man replied, "But I have never been attached to the names people gave me. I have always called myself what I am."

"Which is?"

"A man. When I was younger, a boy. Had I a womb, I would simply call myself a girl or woman." The man adjusted his green cloak once more, "On this same subject, I feel at a disrespected disadvantage here. You seem to know most of my names, but I know none of yours. At least level the playing field."

"I have also been called many things throughout my life," the newcomer said, a smile broadening on his face, "Each one represents various adventures. For the foreseeable future, I have chosen one that I feel represents my personality, to serve as my public name henceforth. I call myself Godric Gryffindor."

The man blinked slowly, "That sounds ridiculous."

The newcomer laughed, a sonorous booming laugh from deep in his belly, "As well it should. I, too, have left behind a lifetime or three. It would serve me well to have a measure of renowned anonymity."

"And why is that?" the man asked the newcomer.

"A couple of my friends and I are trying to establish a place of higher magical learning. I am certain that it will be famous, as it is currently unheard of in the magical community. Such a place will be the largest, safest environment for miles around, a place where young witches and wizards can come to hone their skills and truly develop their potential."

"Like the Catholic 'university,'" the man mused, "But for our kind instead."

The newcomer nodded vigorously, "One of these friends I mentioned has provided me with the current aliases and locations of the most prolific magical instructors throughout the English isle. You, sir, have many successful students."

"Define successful."

"They're all alive."

The man was struck silent and nodded gravely. Not trusting himself to speak, he simply took another sip of his mead.

The newcomer watched until the color returned to the man's face, "What do you say, friend? Would you join me in this venture and conquer new intellectual territories the magical world has never known before?"

The words ran through the man's mind. Safety. Security. Higher learning. A place without fear of persecution or execution. He turned to look at the young people under his care as they danced to the bright harp chords ringing through the room. Safety for the persecuted. It would be like building all those churches long ago.

"I will," he said finally. The newcomer laughed heartily once more and clasped the man's hand, then pulled him into a bear hug. With a light chortle, the man acquiesced and embraced his newest friend in return.

The new friend suddenly seemed to realize something, "My good man," he said, letting go of the hug, "You still haven't chosen a name to go by. Maybe not something you call yourself but something that others can call you. It should supersede your old identities and separate you from them as an educator, rather than a missionary. Not that a missionary is a bad thing to be, but you are starting a new chapter now. This name can and should be as ridiculous as mine and those of my two companions- we all three have had past lives to shed. Do you have something in mind?"

"Hmm…" the man placed his closed fist to his jaw. At first, he mentally ran through the liturgy of biblical names that he liked so much but remembered that he was leaving the missionary path behind and shrugged away the idea. A biblical name, nice as the idea was, would instantly give him away as the missionary to Ériu. That wouldn't do. He cast another glance at his students and struck upon an idea. One of the dancing youths was his nephew, the son of his sister and his Portuguese brother-in-law. Because the lad was his nephew, he too could speak to snakes, and had a fantastic, sibilant Portuguese surname. _It's perfect_ , he thought wryly.

After several minutes of silent thought the man smiled, turned to Godric Gryffindor and said:

"Please call me Salazar. Salazar Slytherin."

* * *

Happy St. Patrick's Day, all! Éirinn go Brách!


End file.
